Shiver
by Jilly-chan
Summary: After meeting, Dorothy and Nichol always had a particular appreciation for each other. What happens when the tremble isn't from the cold? An experimental ficlet and indulgence.


Shiver  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I haven't been able to write for a while, so I adopted this mini-challenge by Alithea to see if I could get the juices flowing. Nichol and Dorothy do not belong to me, but after a few more years, we'll practically have a common law marriage. To be safe, let's say this is Alternate Universe. Enjoy.)  
  
  
  
He hadn't been around her alone before.  
  
The blonde haired aristocrat charmed and captured the attention of both her allies and her adversaries not unlike a serpent. He'd seen the way she would use her chin when she talked, shifting her neck from right to left. Her subtle movements continually kept all eyes on her as she spoke, directing the conversation with her wit-dripping tongue.  
  
He wasn't quite certain anyone had seen her alone before.  
  
***  
  
"I did tell you not to cut your hair, Nichol. It does look rather appalling." She didn't walk too fast, even as he was feeling insecure about their isolated path along the lake. He ran his fingers through the shorter, tight curls over the back of his neck. For a moment, Nichol caught a glimpse of her slender, pale hands. The nearest one settled over the light blue purse balancing over her hip. He half fancied her reaching out and entwining her fingers so tightly that her nails ran across his scalp. Then she'd curl each one tight into a fist and pull until every strand stretched to it's fullest.  
  
"I seem to remember you saying that if I let it go too long it looked awful." He hid behind a brashness that most had come to expect from him, "I'm not the only one who recently had a hair cut."  
  
Dorothy Catalonia did not touch her own recently-trimmed, shoulder-length hair. She did not have instinctual, knee-jerk reactions to insults. Nichol's arm dropped to swing by his side. As the back of his neck cooled in the brisk autumn evening, he replaced his directionless limb into the deep pockets of his coat.  
  
She didn't walk too fast, and Nichol struggled to stay in stride, checking his own footsteps that betrayed his eagerness to *be done* with the moment. The moment alone that he'd half-hoped for and just then left him tasting stale timidity in the back of his mouth. Even so, every nerve seemed high wired to her subtle movements and interpreting them.  
  
The wind flipped her hair around to show her long neck, wrapped once with a blue scarf that flew outward and away from her companion. Dorothy's jaw line lifted to break the wind, and she studied him for a moment without turning to look at him directly.  
  
He knew he was staring, but it seemed obvious to look away.  
  
***  
  
"It's going to rain." Her words were matter-of-fact, and he immediately longed for the playful tone she saved for him. The textured alto that mocked his intelligence, terrified his humor, and stunted his affections. Of course, it was that measure of teasing language that caused Nichol to hope that perhaps he might hold some fraction of importance to her.  
  
"I wasn't the one who wanted to walk," His words slurred with irritation. Seven years older, he still couldn't reach her appearances of maturity.  
  
"No, but you wanted to have my time, and I am a very busy person." Dorothy pulled in her lower lip, then let it loose again--momentarily glistening before the wind dried it again. "You were the one who wanted to follow me to the office."  
  
"I didn't realize you were going to walk the whole way." He bristled, hunching his broad shoulders and pulling his elbows tight in a feeble attempt to save the little body heat he had left from walking the first few blocks away from the evening's lecture at the Civic Center.  
  
"Cold, Nichol?" She turned to face him in such a way that her entire face was open to him. Ivory toned forehead and sharp blue eyes.  
  
"Yes." Hissing, he crossed his eyes to see the white puffs of air that came from the heat in his mouth. To look anywhere but at her in that instant. "Damn breeze coming from the lake. Scenic routes are grand in the summer, but Dorothy!"  
  
"Nicky." Her soothing, maternal pat restored their sarcastic relationship so that he could breathe normally again.  
  
"Don't call me that."  
  
***  
  
The landscape suddenly developed its own character. Away from the lake, the trees started in the open places. They dotted the horizon of cement architecture with orange, brown and feeble reds or golds. Although, across the next intersection of their walkway, the land was held back by a black, iron fence.  
  
Nichol walked so that he could rap his knuckles across the fence, hitting each sharp cold pole, "Who would want to be buried in this city?" He grumbled, filling the silence as they passed the open gate.  
  
They paused together without a suggestion from either. Turning to walk in side by side.  
  
The tombstones were the same speckled grey as the sky and just as distinct from the darker grey of the near-winter ground. Even Dorothy's stylish boots seemed deafening loud as they broke the crisp grass of the almost silent graveyard.  
  
Haunted by the eerie quiet, Nichol stopped and coughed, "I think I've seen a minimum of seven Tilton's with some portion of Psalm 23 etched in their stones."  
  
"We must be in the Tilton section." Dorothy replied still walking, lifting her voice as she stood some ways in the distance. Her silver-blonde hair looked more like sunshine to him then, the only color in the whole place: her shorter-cut waves and the blue of her scarf and bag. "Even the Rutherfords over here were married to Tilton women."  
  
"Sounds like a regular Tilton invasion." Nichol pondered, disinterested. His feet were starting to go numb. "Aren't you cold?"  
  
"A little." Dorothy continued to walk loose limbed, examining one head stone then walking a while before examining another with no apparent partiality.  
  
The wind picked up with an ominous rustling. Loose, dried leaves rolled along the grass. A few piling up at the edge of a grave, before pushing past to the next obstacle.  
  
"We've escaped the Tiltons." Dorothy turned, so abruptly that Nichol had to pull back so not to walk full into her. With inches between them, Dorothy asked quietly, "Decide yet what you wanted to talk to me about?"  
  
Alone.  
  
Nichol furrowed his brow, mesmerized by the strand of hair caught against the curve of her lower lip. Nature rumbled, the deep-throated warning of a lioness cloud pregnant with precipitation.  
  
Her untamed, watchful expression caused enough doubt for Nichol to falter.  
  
"No." He stubbornly refused to regret anything.  
  
"No?" She lifted a finger to place over her just parted lips, the wayward hair curling inward toward her tongue. Then she pulled the invading strands behind her ear and her lips pulled back into a smirk. "Are you sure? Nicky, your neck has turned bright red."  
  
"Doubtlessly chapped from this arctic weather," Nichol felt the first drop of moisture settle into the skin of his cheek as he watched a sparkling drop trail along Dorothy's nose. In a moment of elegant imperfection, Dorothy crossed her eyes in open surprise.  
  
A perfect moment for Nichol to lean in and catch her lips before they closed.  
  
Instead, he closed his eyes.  
  
***  
  
Dorothy started when the first drop slid along her nose and distracted her from the indulgent pleasure of pulling another emotional reaction from Nichol. She loved his inability to hide genuine responses and her ability to provoke them.  
  
She noticed that she'd been holding her breath, when she caught Nichol's expression. Smoothing the lines of anger and anxiety as if he'd accepted some decision. The sudden self-assurance struck her as incredibly handsome. The precise curls of his hair over an expressive brow, strong jaw and set-line of his mouth.  
  
Dorothy took a step backward, then looked down as her heel met the new dampness of thirsty earth under her feet.  
  
"Getting mud on your new shoes already?" His voice causes a shiver down her back, until the undercurrent of their typical banter washed over her.  
  
"I'd be in the office by now if I hadn't taken this little detour with you." Her retort fell short of par, and she hoped he didn't notice the burning sensation that had started in her ears. Dorothy shook out her hair trying to appear aloof as she hid her embarrassment. It fell back in dampened strings.  
  
"Too bad." His words clipped, Nichol looked down his nose at her, lifting his chin. "At least now we're both on intimate terms with the Tiltons."  
  
"There is that." Dorothy let out another long breath, unnerved by how much terror a moment of perceived hostility from Nichol caused. She suddenly felt very alone with him. "Should we be off before you resemble a drowned poodle?"  
  
"Dearest Dotty, always thinking of others first." Nichol started to walk away, hands deep in his coat pockets.  
  
"In that case, you should let me introduce you to a better hairdresser."  
  
"I like Maxwell."  
  
"Must like him a lot then. He's lousy *and* expensive."  
  
They hid behind conversation, Dorothy walking rather fast, until they went their separate ways. 


End file.
